Behind His Lens(39)

“I don’t want her…” He lets the last word drag, as if willing me to fill in the second half of his thought. He wants me.

I blush and glance down at my pumps.

How did we get here?

He lifts my chin, forcing me to look up into his blue eyes, “That dress should be illegal. I almost had a heart attack when you took your coat off earlier.”

My mouth goes dry as his words sink in. Every modicum of coyness apparently evaporated the moment we stepped into the club. The thumping of my heart in my ears overshadows the music pulsing around us. I clinch my fists tightly, feeling a delicious heat spread through my limbs.

“How much have you had to drink?” I need to know if it’s sober Jude or drunk Jude that wants me. Not because I’ll let that stop me. Hell no, I just desperately hope he isn’t drunk. I don’t want him to forget this moment in the morning.

“That one mixed drink. You?” he demands, licking his lips.

“I only took a sip,” I peep, feeling heat flush my cheeks. Where do we go from here?

“Then it looks like there’s no reason you shouldn’t dance with me.”

He doesn’t wait for my answer; he reaches for my hand and tugs me toward the dark dance floor. I have to walk fast to keep up with his long gait, but when we arrive, we bypass the perimeter and delve deeper into bustling, sweaty bodies.

Of course Jude would lead me into the very center of the packed dance floor. He set my life on fire the moment I saw him at that photo shoot. He pushes my limits, and every time I’m around him, I feel like I’m on the knife-edge of desire.

We push through one final ring of dancers and I glance up toward the house lights. There are dozens of them, whirling in circles with the beat of the music. I lose myself in their neon dance as Jude twists himself behind me. His hand drags along my stomach, leaving a trail of lust in its wake as he pulls my body close to him. His arms are so strong and controlling, pinning my body to him. I feel the hard planes of his chest against my back. As the song’s beat hits the crescendo, we grind our bodies together, trying to unite every single cell.

“I can feel every inch of you beneath that dress,” he murmurs as his warm breath cascades down my neck and lands on the bare skin between my breasts. I follow its path and watch my breasts heave and strain against the tight fabric.

“I wore it for you,” I murmur, pushing my hair behind my shoulder and offering him my neck in a moment of boldness. I’m rewarded when he bends down and trails his lips along my delicate skin. This isn’t us; this is what would happen if everything was easy and right in the world. This can’t be real. His hand tightens around my waist as he grinds his hips against me, hard. I don’t know when it happened, when we began to acknowledge the inferno building between us, but a moan escapes me as I meet his body push for push in a dangerous, seductive dance.

“You moaned just like that at the photo shoot. I was running my hands down your body and I just barely touched your breasts. You moaned so softly I doubt anyone else heard. It was so hard not to look at you, Charley. I need you…” He trails feather light kisses up to my ear.

His words send my body into overdrive. Raw passion is laced between each of his syllables, making my panties drip with wetness. I need him. Here. On the dance floor. Now I know he needs me too.

Before logic sets in, I reach my hands up and link my fingers behind his neck, pulling him down to me. My breasts push together. The lace from my tight dress grazes my tight nipples, eliciting another soft moan.

“God, you’re so sexy,” he whispers into my ear as his free hand trails down, past my dress, and grips my bare thigh. I love that he takes what he wants. His warm touch shocks my core and I jerk back against him. His touch is hot, demanding, and begging me to open up for him. I don’t care that we’re in public; no one’s paying attention to us. The lighting on the dance floor makes it impossible to even see past a few inches beyond yourself. We’re alone in a crowd.

But once his hand grips me, he leaves it there and I know he wants encouragement. He needs me to say it’s okay.

I lean my head back against his chest and push my ass against the thick erection straining through his jeans.

“Touch me, Jude,” I whisper, hoping he’ll push his hand up my thigh. I want him to feel how wet I am, how much he turns me on.

But instead, his hand drags up over my dress, touching the thin valley between my breasts. A sliver of naked skin is exposed by my deep v-neck. His finger skims the scalloped edge of my dress before he slides past the lacey material, dangerously close to my nipple.